


Two Psychos Walk Into a Junkyard

by Nero_the_third



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Gay, Hand Jobs, Henry is crazy, I got big plans this shit gonna get crazy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Patrick is even crazier, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Violence, Smut, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Violence, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nero_the_third/pseuds/Nero_the_third
Summary: Henry's got eyes for Patrick, but has some issues to deal with first. Patrick wants Henry, and needs to see if he's real.What havoc the two could wreak.





	1. First Touch

“You’re Henry Fucking Bowers!”

That was what he said to himself, standing in the dingy school bathroom, the fluorescent lights above flickering softly. He ran his hands through his brown hair, stopping to admire his arm muscles, boldly on display in the T-shirt he’d ripped the sleeves off of.

“You’re hot shit,” he said, and then, hesitantly “you could fuck any bitch in this school if you wanted to.”

As if speaking the words gave him more confidence, he grabbed his crotch and tugged at it a little, playing with himself for his own reflection. Yeah. That was right. He could fuck any girl, if he wanted to. He’d known he was good looking for a while now; in fact, he had worked at it. The sit-ups and push-ups, sneaking onto his dad’s bench press while he was out. Henry had sweated hard for his jawline, for the guns on his arms he so proudly showed off every chance he got, and for the toned pecs and abs, hidden beneath his shirt.

The rest though – his cute little slightly upturned nose, his mischievous brown eyes, the small but plush lips – that, he supposed, was just his good luck.  He was owed it, the way he saw it. If he was going to get stuck with such a shitty home in a shitty town with shitty kids all going to a shitty fucking school, the least he deserved was to look good. Well, to look good, and to rule.

“You’re the king of this school.”

For he was. A tyrant maybe, ruling through fear. But hey baby, a king is a king. Henry had come into the bathroom a few minutes earlier, fleeing the boredom of Summer School and a few strange thoughts that kept slipping into his mind. It helped him to talk out loud, he wasn’t exactly a genius and without his friends around to bolster his confidence, it felt nice to hear a voice.

It would have been queer to talk to himself if people could hear, so he had kicked in every toilet stall, all empty except for the last one, where he found a little kid, several years younger than him, taking a shit. “Get out.” Henry had growled.

The kid had taken a moment to look at Henry, and then down at himself, and then to the roll of toilet paper beside him.

“Get the fuck of out of here now before I beat whatever shit is still left in you out!”

That did the trick, and the little kid had scrambled out of the room, pulling his pants up on the way out. Henry laughed for a while, before facing himself in the smudged mirror.

“The king.”

He said it, and he knew it, but he didn’t feel it. He felt… off. Maybe it was the fact that during summer school, he ruled of very little. Only the dumb kids were here now, and if he was king, it was a sorry kingdom. Or maybe it all had to do with that fucking psychopath Patrick. He was here, back in the classroom, having flunked his own classes just like Henry. Belch was there too, which almost made the whole gang. Vic was smarter, or at least knew how to cheat, and had managed to free himself from school for the summer. But Patrick. The lanky boy, crazy, crazier than Henry probably, occupied most of Henry’s mind. Lately, whenever he and his gang were hanging out in the junk yard or in Belch’s car, and Henry would say something, he’d get this strange look from Patrick.

Now, Henry knew Patrick. He knew Patrick’s face could be vacant of any expression, and he could be plotting a murder or just waiting for lunch. But the way Patrick had been looking at Henry these past few weeks…well, it was a different look. And what scared Henry, what really terrified him, was the more he thought about that look, and the more he thought about Patrick, the worse his thoughts became. They were terrible, wrong things, thoughts no man should ever think. Still they floated though his mind, bumping against the roof of his skull like balloons rising to the ceiling of a room.

The image of Patrick’s tall body flicked through his mind. The thought of him lifting his shirt, revealing his thin but toned torso.  Henry could imagine the psycho’s eyes looking up at him, pleading like a dog for a bone. Henry would give him that bone. Oh yes.

No. Fuck. _STOP IT,_ he told himself. He flicked on the sink, wet his face with the cool water, and strode out of the bathroom, clearing his mind. Let all the bad thoughts stay behind.

______________________________________________________________________________

               High school was a drag, and summer school was her cunt of a cousin. The bitch teacher droned on and on, and to Patrick it all sounded like gibberish. The classroom was hot. The school didn’t want to pay for air conditioning over the summer, if the kids wanted to learn in a cool environment, they should have done so during the school year. Now all the windows were opened, and a rotating fan provided to only cool relief. Patrick didn’t understand why it rotated. It should be fixed, fixed only on him so that he could be cool. He was the one that mattered, right?

Patrick couldn’t remember a time when he thought that any other humans – any other living creatures, for that matter – were real. He believed himself to be real, the only real creature in the entire universe.

When he first joined the Bowers gang, he still felt this way. He accompanied the boys around mostly out of boredom. It also gave him a chance to express the more violent side of himself, in quarters where he wouldn’t be judged. And so, he was fine to hang out with the boys, mostly staying silent, as he usually did. He went with their flow, and they seemed to accept him. Patrick even grew to like the other boys. If it could be said that he had a concept of friends, he would have included the Bowers gang, and only the gang, in that circle.

The more time that he spent with the gang, and the more he watched and listened to Henry, the more he thought that Henry might just be real too. At least, he had the possibility of being real, Patrick knew that much. It was hard to say exactly why he thought so. Henry was tamer than Patrick. Unlike him, Henry had only ever killed one thing: Mike’s dog. Patrick suspected Henry must have done it for the same reason that he trapped animals in his fridge. The rush of a black and white world splitting into color.

Patrick sensed there was more of that in Henry. What others might call evil, or dark or crazy, that was what Patrick saw as real. And he sensed that all in Henry, somewhere deep inside, waiting, aching to break free.

To Patrick, it seemed as though his thinking had summoned Henry back, for he had re-entered the classroom, back from the bathroom, face slightly wet still. That cute face. He watched Bowers as he walked across the room and took his seat behind himself. Patrick turned to give a small grin the Henry. All Henry saw was that look, that strange look that brought those thoughts flooding back to him, even though he had tried his hardest to leave them behind.

Patrick could tell he made Henry uneasy, and he loved that. He turned back to face the board, but his mind was still fixed on Henry.  

While the summer marched on, Patrick saw how Henry changed. He sensed that if he could just keep pushing the boy, if he could feed into Henry’s worst instincts, it would give him the chance to see if he was indeed real.

Though Patrick thought mostly of Henry’s mind and soul (or whatever you would call that deeper thing inside us all,) there was also the matter of Henry’s body. Patrick had no trouble touching the girls at school, reaching up to the desk in front of him to graze a budding breast or two. He’d felt lots of thighs and backs and run his fingers through their long hair, and had felt nothing. No boner, no rush, only boredom.  But Henry. Patrick watched Henry, had seem him take his shirt off, seen him with his pants down even, and Patrick wanted nothing more than to reach out and feel the other boy. He didn’t. Just as he knew not to get into too much trouble with his animals, he knew he could get into trouble for touching Henry. That wasn’t the way things worked, not now, not in Derry. So he bided his time, content to be near Bowers and the rest of the gang until the opportunity presented itself.

One day it did.

Vic and Belch had just left the junkyard. The boys had been playing the way only teenage boys could, lighting their farts on fire with Henry’s lighter. It had been his idea, he’d brought the beans that supplied their steady streams of flatulence. He’d thought it would be fun, and deeper than that, he’d wondered if the boys dropped pants would bring anything up. Holding the lighter up to Patrick’s ass, firm looking and covered in a thin layer of fuzz, Henry had felt a stirring between his legs that terrified him as much as it excited him.

He hadn’t minded peeking at anyone really. They weren’t a bad looking bunch, his gang, and while his eyes mostly lingered on the tall and lanky Patrick, he glanced at Vic and Belch too, mentally measuring their limp dicks against his own (Vic was clearly a shower, not a grower like himself,) noticing who had the most hair(Belch for sure, grew an untrimmed forest,) and watching the fleshy mounds on the boys backsides jiggle as they laughed at the fire shooting from each other’s asses.

It had been a great afternoon, but now without Belch and Vic, it grew silent. Neither Henry nor Patrick had bothered to pull their pants back up, and dicks out, the boys sat in silence, the summer heat finally taking its toll. Sweat ran down their foreheads and stuck shirts to their backs.

Patrick broke the silence, eyes locking with Henry’s: “Let me show you something.”

“What?”

“Let me show you something,” he repeated. “It feels good.”

Henry frowned, feigning disinterest. Here they were, both of them with their pants down, and Patrick was staring with that same look he had been seeing all summer. Henry’s mind raced with possibilities, and one particular scenario he prayed would play out.

“Fine.” Henry told him, crossing his arms and waiting to see what Patrick would do.

With a grin, Patrick reached out to touch Henry’s flaccid cock. Henry jumped slightly. This was exactly what he’d hoped for, but for it to actually happen was still a surprise. Patrick tugged at the dick, pulling at it from the base to the head, and he felt it begin to grow. The fleshly tube hardening under his grip, Patrick’s smile widened, stretching ear to ear.

Henry’s eyes were locked on his own cock, and the hand now wrapped around it. His gaze flicked to Patrick, the boy’s long hair partly falling over his face, the huge shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

_This is exactly what he’s been wanting,_ thought Henry. _This is what that look meant._

Patrick absentmindedly played with his own penis, gently tapping it against his thigh and palming around with it. His attention was focused on Henry, who’s own dick had gone from a semi to now fully erect. It was long now, maybe close to six inches, with a slight upward curve to it. It felt just right in Patrick’s hand, which steadily worked the cock, rubbing it up and down, up and down. The head swelled, bright red, and Patrick worked it hard to coax some glistening precum out of it.

The smell of ball sweat ran through the air, and lit Patrick’s brain on fire. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to shove his face into the small bush surrounding Henry’s cock and balls, to breath in that sweet and sour scent. He needed it. He needed to know what Henry tasted like.

“Do you want me to put it in my mouth? I don’t mind—”

He didn’t get any further before his face met Henry’s fist, and he fell flat on his back. Patrick felt something on his tongue, so he wiped his hand on it, and found blood. He’d bitten it when he was punched. That turned him on even more, his dick standing rock hard.

Henry saw how he excited Patrick, and thought about hitting him again. But it was too much too quickly. He couldn’t. He just. Fuck.

“I’m not into that homo shit” he heard himself saying. But both he and Patrick knew that he had been very into it not ten seconds before.

“You liked it.” Patrick said, matter-of-factly.

Henry shoved the taller boy back down into the dirt. He pulled his jeans back up, buttoning them to end any thought of the two going further.

“I did not,” Henry growled “and if you tell anyone about this, I’ll tell them you’re a lying faggot.”

Patrick cocked his head and searched Henry’s eyes. The sense of longing in them was gone, replaced by a deep fear. Patrick recognized it not as a fear of him, but as Henry’s fear of himself. He had liked it, and Patrick bet Henry wanted nothing more than to keep going. Only something held him back. He would push the boy further.

“You got a boner! Biggest boner I ever saw!” Patrick grinned.

“Nah, I bet you see lots of boners you fucking faggot.” Henry worried that Patrick wasn’t backing down. He wasn’t afraid of being called a faggot. The psycho hadn’t had any friends before joining his gang, and he could go back to being a lone wolf, no problem.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll tell the cops about your fridge” Henry said, finally sparking a response in Patrick. Concern crept into his eyes and egged Henry on.

“Yeah,” he continued “All I have to do is tell one person, and they’ll lock you away in the loony bin for years.”

It was true. Patrick had stopped killing as many neighborhood animals, because he had felt himself suspected. Now he knew it was Henry who was aware of his secret, of his true pleasure.

_Maybe I ought to lock you in there_ thought Patrick. But no, that wouldn’t be any good. Henry’s knowledge, moreover his understanding, confirmed his possible realness. Patrick had to see if he was right. Another real person, and Henry Bowers out of all people. It seemed too perfect, which was why he was so suspicious.

Patrick said nothing, only glared up at the boy above him.

“If you try to come around, we’ll kill your homo ass” Henry told him. And with that, he turned and walked away, ending the moment and closing the friendship.

Patrick watched him go, his tight little ass swaying to the rhythm of his steps.

Then he was alone. Shit.


	2. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unsatisfied Henry returns to the junkyard.

Shit. Everything had been going perfectly; Henry had wanted more, Patrick felt that.  But he hadn’t planned on Henry’s fear of his own inclinations.

He stood, wiping the dirt off his ass, and put his pants back on. Glancing around the junkyard, he collected the saliva in his mouth and spit it out. That had been meant to wet Henry, and now it didn’t feel right to keep it inside himself. _Way to go, ruin a perfectly good thing with your goddamned mouth_ he cursed at himself.

If Henry was serious about telling someone about his fridge, Patrick knew he would get in a heap of trouble. He had been breaking the rules, and to be caught breaking them meant losing his freedom. That wouldn’t do; he resolved to clean it out. All that was in there now was an old bird, but the skeletons of all the other animals lay in the brush nearby, and would have to be moved.

Patrick marched past the piles of trash, towards the edge of the yard, where the bushes and trees pushed their way onto the flat dirt. There was his fridge, right on the forest line. It called to him, the dirty white box. It’s metal handle, only to be opened by him, could end lives with a click. He lost time, standing there in front of it, letting the power of it wash over it. This might be the last time he felt that energy, and Patrick wanted to savor it.

He didn’t know that inside that fridge lurked a being darker than himself, waiting for its prey.

Patrick was so wrapped up inside his own mind that he didn’t hear the footsteps drawing near him, didn’t even notice the words flung at him until—

“Hey!”

Patrick turned, surprised, broken out of his trance. He turned to face the familiar voice.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, can’t you hear?”

“I hear you Henry.” It took everything inside him not to break out into a fit of joyous laughter. There was only one reason Bowers would come back. He wanted more of what Patrick had to offer, and Patrick would give it to him gladly.

Henry stood there, unsure of how to proceed. He didn’t even know why he was back here. He had ended things. What he wanted was wrong, but as he had been walking away from Patrick, it was all he could think about. He had returned to Patrick because he was horny, and really, there’s no difference between a bitch and a faggot blowing you. That was what he told himself, and it quieted his mind enough for him to stand there, jeans bulging.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Patrick said. The reassurance was about both the past and the future. He saw the lump in Henry’s jeans, and again stifled a grin. _Take it easy Patrick. Let him make the first move._

Words raced around Henry’s mind. _I want you Patrick_ he thought. _I need you. Come here, let me touch you, touch me…_ but none of those came out. To treat this fag with any respect at all would be wrong. Patrick wasn’t a man, not even a boy, he was a thing to be used and then discarded. And Henry was ready to use him.

“Get on your knees queer,” Henry ordered, and Patrick did as his leader commanded. His big, strong General Bowers.

Henry strode forward, unzipping his jeans and reaching in to grab his cock, which hadn’t softened an inch since it had been in Patrick’s hand. This was the hardest Henry had ever been, and most of his rational thoughts grew cloudy with a powerful lust. He pulled the member out, stepping up to Patrick. It hung in the air, inches away from Patrick’s face. The red tip leaked, shiny with precum. The blue veins pulsed, as though all the blood in Henry’s body was flowing only to his dick. The sweaty scent of Henry drifted out, and Patrick inhaled greedily.

But he waited to do anything more. To go in without command could scare Henry, and he knew there would be no third chance. His eyes looked up to Henry, now leering above him.

Henry shook his dick, and a bit of precum flew off to land on the open lips of the teen kneeling below him. Patrick’s tongue darted out to lick it up, and he swallowed. A tiny bit of Henry, but more was to come.

“You wanted it,” he said. “Now get your mouth on it, faggot.”

Patrick dived forward, skipping any pleasantries, and took the entire rod into his mouth and down his throat.

Henry watched his cock disappear into Patrick’s mouth, and then felt the tightness of the boy’s throat. He gasped.

Patrick heard, and grinned around the flesh in his mouth. His lips touched the very base of Henry’s flesh, and he felt the short pubic hairs bristle against his face. The musk was overpowering, thick, salty and sour. He breathed through his nose, and let himself choke on the cock wedged down his throat, his neck muscles tensing up, squeezing the member. He gagged around it, but stayed there, happy to finally have won. He was deepthroating Henry Bowers.

Henry gasped again, and then sucked in more air as Patrick pulled back and began to suck more softly, just around the tip. His lips suctioned in, building pressure around the cock as he bobbed his head back and forth. His mouth fit snuggly around Henry, and he took the member all the way down his throat, then slid off it, making sure the dick never left his mouth completely.

This was heaven. Patrick looked up at Henry, his eye’s closed, fists clenched, face a picture of bliss. Or maybe pain. So hard to differentiate the two.

Patrick reached a hand up to fondle the balls hanging by his chin, and grabbed onto Henry’s thigh with the other. He felt the firmness of Henry’s tensed muscles, and thought about reaching further up to place his hand on Henry’s ass, but knew that would unsettle the boy, who seemed so happy right then. _Best to keep taking it slow_ he told himself. His lips continued to slide up and down the shaft as he ticked Henry’s sack, and then he brought his mouth off the cock, and down to try his best to swallow Henry’s balls.

This surprised the standing teen, and he looked down at Patrick, who happily lapped away at the fuzzy sack. Henry brought his hand to Patrick’s face, and for a moment the two locked eyes. Then Henry grabbed a handful of long, dark hair, and brought Patrick’s mouth back to his dick. He thrust it in, and held Patrick on it. He was gonna take control now.

“You love this, don’t you?” The words slipped out of Henry’s mouth as quickly as they came to his mind, and he could do nothing to stop them. He was running on autopilot now, existing in the moment only for the pleasure Patrick provided.

“Mhmmm” was all that came out of Patrick, who refused to stop sucking to talk.

Henry pulled harder on Patrick’s hair, and started to really fuck his face, thrusting hard into the mouth securely fastened on his cock.

“I knew you were crazy, but this is something else. You’re like a bitch.”

Patrick put both his hand up on Henry’s torso, and broke his head free of Henry’s grasp. Dead serious, he looked up to Henry and said “I’m your bitch Henry.”

“Yeah. You are,” Henry said, and latched his hand back on Patrick’s hair. He took his cock in his hand, and slapped it around Patrick’s face, leaving trails of sticky precum mixed with spit.

“Open up,” he ordered, and Patrick did so. The dick went back into his mouth, and Henry resumed his powerful thrusting. His body thumped against Patrick’s head, the flesh slapping flesh.

Patrick tried his hardest to keep his teeth far out of the way, as Henry’s fucking grew more and more aggressive. One misstep and this could all end badly. Now that he had Henry, there was no way he would let him go.

“God,” Henry grunted “You’re. Such. A. Fucking. Fag.” He spat a word out with each thrust.

_What does that make you?_ thought Patrick. Sure, Henry was pitching, and some might say that only made a faggot out of one of them. But Patrick knew such excuses were made by insecure men who couldn’t handle the truth. Like Henry. As if closing his eyes made Patrick into someone else.

While Patrick sucked away happily, Henry was getting close. He pumped in and out of the faggot’s mouth, grunting at the wetness of it, loving how easily Patrick obeyed him. His stomach muscles tensed, and Patrick felt Henry’s balls retract upward as his sack tightened.

In a moment of pre-ejaculation clarity, Henry looked down with horror at what he was doing. Here he was, in a fucking junkyard, his pants around his ankles, with a psycho queer sucking him off. And he was enjoying it. _Oh fuck_ Henry thought _oh no oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck!_

He kicked Patrick square in the chest, sending the boy tumbling once more into the dirt. Then Henry came. Great squirts of thick milky liquid shot out of his cock, landing on Patrick’s clothes, some even splattering his face. It was the furthest Henry had ever shot, and by far the biggest load as well. Suddenly he felt exhausted, and desperate for air.

Now that his lust was satisfied, Henry didn’t know what to do. He stood panting, fists clenching, staring hard at Patrick.

“What the fuck did you just make me do!?” Henry shouted.

Patrick said nothing, only stared back, and, without breaking eye contact, he gently wiped the cum off his face, and sucked it off of his fingers, licking his lips to send the message. Yum.

“You taste good.”

Henry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Cautiously, he stepped forward, and extended an open hand down to Patrick. He grabbed it, and as Henry pulled him, his other hand curled into a tight ball and slammed into Patrick’s head. Again Patrick smashed into the dirt, but he felt no pain nor anger. On the contrary, the eyes that looked up at Henry glowed with delight. He grinned as Henry kicked him in the stomach. Once, twice, three times. Then four. Each hitting hard, with a loud thump.

“Fuck yes babe.”

_Fuck he likes this_ Henry saw. He stomped on Patrick’s face, snapping his nose and releasing a steady flow of blood. That was when Patrick came. He hadn’t been touching himself at all, but the violence was too much for him. The world had gone beyond full color, everything came out clearer and richer. It was a sensation unlike he had ever experienced. He was high off of the beating and the sucking, and now here he was, climaxing under Henry. He had been hard for the last, what, 20 minutes? Longer? Thinking it over, he had no idea how long he had been on his knees, servicing Henry. He honestly didn’t care about how long it might have been. Now this pushed him over the edge, and he wet his underwear with gobs of semen. He groaned out, forcing Henry to take a step back.

“I should fucking kill you,” he muttered.

“If I can cum when you hit me, I wonder what killing me would do?” Patrick’s response left Henry gaping, not quite believing what he had just said.

“You didn’t…”

“Wanna see it?” Patrick wiped away the blood at his nose, coating the back of his hand in red. It kept flowing, pooling at the dirt under his head. He grinned up at Henry, blood dripping onto his white teeth.

“You’re a fucking delight Henry.”

Henry didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t use violence to punish Patrick, and that was his normal way of making his points. He had to show the psycho that this was the wrong, that they shouldn’t have done this.

But they had, and staring at each other, they both were thinking the same thing. This was good. This felt…right.

With a slight gasp, Patrick hoisted himself up. The blood flow from his nose had lessened some, but it felt like Henry might have broken a rib, or at least really bruised up the area. _Good_ thought Patrick. _Mark me as yours Henry Bowers. Mark me with blood and bruises._

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” said Henry. _Liar_ he called himself.

Patrick smiled, now looking down at the shorter boy. “Yes you do.”

Henry didn’t have enough strength in him to argue. What Patrick said was true.

“If you tell anyone—”

“Relax,” Patrick cooed. “I’m not plannin’ to tell anybody. This can stay between us.”

Henry grimaced, and Patrick figured that was the closest he would get to a smile. Good enough.

“I’ll come round to the farm with Belch and Vic tomorrow, and we’ll help with the chores.”

“Yeah,” was all Henry said.

“Ok. See you then.”

With a wave and his trademark grin, Patrick left, head held high. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, he had seduced Henry Bowers, the sexiest fucking guy in Derry. Patrick had known exactly which strings to pull, no matter what Henry thought of it, Patrick believed himself to be the mastermind. He still wasn’t sure if Henry was real; the chances seemed better than ever, to be sure. It would take longer to figure that out for sure. This was good enough for now. His nose still bled slightly, and dripped a long trail down the road as Patrick walked home.

Henry was rooted to the same spot between the trash heaps. His mind burned, none of the thoughts made much sense. Patrick’s eyes hung in his mind like a bad smell, like rotting flesh. Or maybe it was the smell of cooking meat, something juicy and tasty. He’d been feeling on edge lately, but this was a new fucking edge. His breathes came quick and hard, sweat dripping down his body, trying to cool down the fire that had been set inside him.

Eventually, he broke out of his strange trance. It was late, the sun setting, and he had to be home.

_Dad’s gonna be pissed_ he thought, and he started to run, hurrying to the Bowers Farm.


	3. Third Time's The Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get messy in a barn.

Henry’s feet pounded the pavement. He ran hard, passing the iron fence that bordered the Bower’s Farm. Gravel crunched beneath his worn shoes as he turned onto the drive that lead up to his house. As he bounded up the steps of the porch, he stalled for a second, not quite wanting to enter. He stunk of sweat and sex, and guilt clung to him too, just as smelly. Henry considered washing himself off first, maybe just with a bucket of water, anything to get the stench off himself. Then he heard his dad stomping around in the kitchen, and felt his presence was missed. Opening the screen door, Henry stepped into the house.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
Patrick was almost back to his house when the Losers rode by on their bikes. The st-st-st stuttering one first, with that tramp close behind him. The jew, four eyes, the little sickly fucker, and the porky new kid all followed, whooping and hollering to each other. Patrick stopped to gawk at the freak parade. His nose still dripped slightly, so he wiped at it with his hand. His face was swelling, the bruising starting to show, leaving him a bit lumpy and deformed.

“Finally, someone taught Patrick to stop being such a freak!” shouted the kid with glasses. God, what’s his name? wondered Patrick. Richie, maybe? Yeah, that sounded right. 

You’ll be first, Richie Patrick thought. He said nothing, just smiled and waved as they passed by. None of the other losers would be so bold to taunt him, they only stared, unnerved by his red face and bloodstained teeth. Then they were gone, around the bend in the road, off to do who knows what. Probably going to fuck each other like some sort of freak cult.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
“Where’ve you been?” Butch Bowers mumbled as Henry entered the kitchen. Oscar had gone to Vietnam, and Butch had come back, one man out of millions forever by changed by war. His wife had left shortly after, realizing the man she married was no longer there. Henry, however, was stuck with Butch, who he often detested, but every once and a while he and his father would share a moment, a beer perhaps, and things wouldn’t seem so bad then. So Henry kept coming back. 

“Nowhere,” Henry told him.

“Nowhere,” Butch parroted back. “Nowhere. I used to spend a lot of time there when I was your age, you know that? You know your old man used to be just like you?”  
This was a common mood for Butch, one of the pleasant ones, and Henry was used to it. His dad had drunk about 5 drinks so far that night, and was probably feeling good about anything and everything. A few more drinks and the evening would start going sour. Then there would be no being around him. But for now, Henry could put up with it.  
“You here me, boy?” 

“I heard you dad.” Then there was silence. Henry had nothing to say, no want to relate to his father. I’m nothing like you he told himself.

Of course, he was. The hate spewed out by Butch had leeched into Henry, and the violence Henry used so well was a direct product of that which his father hand unleashed upon him. The two weren’t just kin, but kindred spirits. There was a future path where Henry became exactly like his father, a stumbling alcoholic. Then there were other possible futures, where Henry reached heights his father only dreamed of, where his cruelty was fostered and bloomed like a deadly flower. That was the path Patrick was starting to lead him down. 

The farm was mostly run by Henry, ordered to perform various tasks by his father. In turn, Henry brought over his gang to follow his own orders, and that was the way things got done. Butch could sit on the couch all day, watching TV, drinking, napping, doing whatever he damn well pleased, and Henry would do his chores or face a whipping, a beating, a spanking, anything to keep the little runt in line.   
In silence they cooked, and sat down at the couch a half hour later, with two identical plates of pork chops and potatoes. Butch tore into his like an animal, which disgusted Henry enough to sour his appetite. He ate anyway, while the TV buzzed in front of them.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
Patrick’s dinner lay on the table, a plate of veggies, rice and chicken left out just for him. The TV set echoed in from the living room. His mother and father were both in there, closing the day by turning their minds off. Patrick ate quickly, and went to his room without a word to either parent. They rarely worried about him anymore, for if they did turn their full attention to him, surely they might lose their minds too, over the monster that slept under their roof. But Derry was never like most towns, and where normal parents might have worried, might have called a psychologist, the Hocksettlers never would. A dark influence kept them from it, and left them at ease, believing their boy was a good one, full of love and kindness. 

Thoughts of how he might torture the losers flitted though his head as Patrick flopped down on his bed, relishing the way his ribs crackled with pain as his torso hit the firm mattress. He thought about Henry then, and was hard almost immediately. Cumming from being beaten, that was pretty good, a first for Patrick. 

His jeans fell in a pile on the floor, and his underwear landed softly on top of them. Fingers wrapped around his cock, and he masturbated to the image of Henry towering above him. His angry face all red, that fucking tiny nose that sat so perfectly in the center of his face. Nothing couldn’t hide the cuteness, not even the less than tasteful mullet. His curled fists made the veins on his arm pulse, and Patrick could see them now, blue and throbbing and sexy. The teen was strong for his age, Patrick would admit that. Oh the way he took charge! A natural born leader, that was Henry. A leader of outcasts and evildoers, but a leader none the less. As soon as Patrick’s mind turned to Henry’s cock, the member thick and red, Patrick came for the second time, splattering his taunt belly with sticky whiteness.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
Butch had tried to talk with Henry, tried until he gave up and picked up a beer can, the pack of 24 stationed right by the sofa. With a wave of his hand he dismissed his son. Freed from his father, Henry slunk down the hall and into his bedroom, closing and locking the door quietly. Finally, in the sanctity of his own room, he began to process the events of the day. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t. A bulge grew in his jeans at the thought of Patrick, and no matter what Henry told himself, the boner appeared there to stay. 

With no air conditioning, the house steamed in the summer. Sweat dripped and slid through the crevices of Henry’s abs, pooled around his forehead and wet his neck. The windows slid open and clicked into place, and a small breeze fluttered in. With the room a little cooler, Henry laid on his bed, clothes off, hands behind his head, far away from the cock that had only hours earlier been enveloped in Patrick’s mouth. 

Jesus Christ was all Henry could think. A thousand expletives and Jesus Christ cycled around his head. It was all Patrick’s fault. Everything was his fault. Eventually, he fell asleep, and his dreams were fraught with images of Patrick and the things he wanted to do to him.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
Through the dark green brush Patrick watched Richie walk his bike up to his house. It was a comfortable home, two-stories and reeking of the middle class. Richie let his bike thud on the side of the gray garage, and pushed through the side door. Only it didn’t budge.

“Shit” Richie said. He jiggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked tight, before disappearing behind the house. 

The leaves rustled as Patrick moved to follow him, or at least to get a view of where the boy was going. He had arrived at the house an hour earlier, having long ago figured out where the boy-who-thought-he-was-so-funny lived. Making like the house was his own, he had gone in through the unlocked side door and examined the house, making note of where all the bedrooms were and how many sharp knives sat in the kitchen. Then he had left, making sure to lock the door so that Richie would have to find another way in. Hopefully with a key. 

And that’s exactly where Richie had gone. He stood on his tiptoes to reach into the top of the birdfeeder, and dug a little into the pile of seed before finding the house key. A faint snap brought his head around, but he saw no one behind him and didn’t think anything more of the noise. There were plenty of squirrels and rabbits in Derry, even the occasional deer that would wander past. Key in hand, he went back to the side door and let himself in. 

Patrick had everything he needed. Well, except for Henry. But Patrick’s plan was good. No, it was fucking downright evil and that made it great. Henry would bite for sure, as soon as Patrick told him about it. There were just a few kinks to work out with Henry first. His hotheadedness was admirable, but it often got them into more trouble. His total fear and rejection of his inner self was another problem, and not exactly something that could be addressed once and then corrected. No, it’d take a long time to fix all that. With Henry in mind, Patrick trotted away from the Toizer residence and off to the Bowers farm. 

Richie glimpsed a long-haired boy out his window, but he was focused on finding quarters that he could take back to the arcade. The figure walking away popped in and then out of his mind.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
Belch and Vic had arrived an hour ago, and Henry had taken them out to help him clean the barn. The task was just about finished by the time Patrick arrived.   
“Swung by your house but you didn’t show” Belch said. 

“Where were you?” Henry questioned. He had the right to know, didn’t he?

Patrick replied “Oh, you know. Beating cats. Shooting puppies.”

The other three boys said nothing: it was a plausible explanation of where Patrick might have been. 

“You said you’d be here to help,” said Henry.

“I’m here now, right?” Patrick appeared confused at Henry’s anger, even though he knew exactly why his leader was upset. Best to play naïve. 

“And we’ve finished the whole thing!”

“What, Butch only gave you one chore?”

Now Henry was silent, because of course there were several more things to do before the boys could leave the farm. Patrick was right, and Henry resented him for it.   
Henry listed off the rest of what the gang had to do for Butch. “His oil needs changed. There’s some trees near the edge of the potatoes that need to have branches cut and tarred. And we’ve got to move some of these crates ‘round front, probably sweep the floor too.” 

So Henry sent Belch to change the oil and Vic to trim the trees. The left him and Patrick for moving the boxes. Alone. Together again. With at least half an hour of free time for them to do…just about anything. 

Henry started “Listen—”

“It’s best not to talk about it,” said Patrick. 

“No, we—”

That was when Henry noticed Patrick’s face was falling forward, getting dangerously close to Henry’s, and Henry wasn’t moving, frozen, watching strands of hair fall down across Patrick’s face, watching his eye’s flutter closed, and then their lips were touching, wet plush flesh pressing down, and at first Henry stalled like a car, finally bursting to life and devouring the mouth in front of him.   
Eyes wide open, Henry watched his own mouth betray him as he kissed Patrick back. Further mutiny as his hands made their way to the taller boy’s hips, and then slipped down to grab at his ass.   
Patrick’s lips stretched outward as he smiled. 

“Eager for more?” He said, rocking the boat, taking a chance.

Henry blushed, and then kneed Patrick in the balls. The boy doubled over, and Henry panted for a few seconds. Any resolutions to punish Patrick (in any serious manner) or to chastise him were gone, replaced only by carnal hunger. He was a bad person. There were worse things he could be doing.

One hand on Patrick’s shoulder, and one on his chin, Henry made the boy stand up tall. The gesture was almost affectionate, but the dark look in Henry’s eyes betrayed his true intentions. Then he said “I’m going to fuck you.” 

Patrick didn’t try to hide his surprise. “I thought it would take a little longer to convince you.”

Henry’s fists curled into balls, and Patrick practiced his best cower. “No one convinced me,” growled Henry, as Patrick innocently rubbed Henry through his jeans, feeling the erect cock through the tight fabric, squeezing the flesh and rubbing the tip. If Henry wanted to pretend he was in control that was fine. In fact, that was what Patrick enjoyed most. When his angry little Henry ordered him around, nothing made him harder, nothing else brought that merciless smile to his lips. 

Now Patrick felt Henry’s hands pushing him down, so he sunk to his knees.

“Get out of those jeans.”

“Yes sir!” barked Patrick, which brought another show of force from Henry, knocking his fist against the side of Patrick’s head. The blow jostled him, but Patrick kept his composure. 

Henry muttered “Quit it,” and Patrick shut up.

On the dusty barn floor, Patrick shimmied out of his jeans and boxers, his pale ass and legs wriggling on display for Henry. Taking up position, the taller boy got down onto all fours, resting his weight on his forearms and his shins. 

“You got a condom?” asked Patrick, mostly out of habit. When he was fucked, normally it was an older, seedier sort of guy, and then there was always a good bit of concern about contracting AIDS. 

“What, you diseased?” replied Henry. No, neither of them were. Patrick shook his head no. 

“Get a good glob of spit for lube.”

A hand latched onto Patrick’s hair, and pulled him around to face Henry’s cock. “Then get it nice and wet.”

So Patrick did. The cavern inside his mouth was already watering, and he brought it to the hard member in front of him. First licking up and down the shaft, and then starting to swallow the cock. He felt it hit the back of his throat, and then as he relaxed himself, it slipped past, entering the tightness of his neck. Henry’s grip on his hair tightened as he held his cock deep inside Patrick’s throat, until the eager boy starting choking on it. When he pulled it out, long strands of drool hung off of it. 

The moment was broken as Henry lightly shooed his face away, and guided the boy around. On all fours, Patrick made quite a sight. His slim thighs and calves, spattered with thin hairs. His long, slender, pale body giving way to a solid, round ass, just bulging out as Patrick pushed back, spreading his hole for Henry. 

Getting down on his knees, Henry soaked in the view, lining his cock up with Patrick’s ass. Not sure exactly how low the hole was. He’d never done this before. Things were moving quickly, faster than he’d anticipated but it seemed right, right now it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. Fuck Patrick. Fuck Patrick. He was gong to fuck Patrick. 

Patrick sensed the stall, and reached a hand back to grab onto Henry’s dick. Arching his own back, he presented his hole and put the dick right up to it, softly sighing as he felt the cock tease him, making him ache for more. 

For a second, Henry held himself still. Then he pressed his hips forward, and felt the resistance of the tight rectum. The cock went in partly, but fuck it was so goddamned tight. The pressure felt amazing around his cockhead, but he had to pull out, Patrick was too tight. Henry spit once, twice, watching the white strings land on the top of his dick. With two fingers, he wiped the slime off and stuck them into Patrick’s ass. They went in easier, slipping in easily enough. The warm cavern felt strange, but nice. Henry started pushing them in all the way up to his knuckles, and then pulling out until he could see the white of his fingernails. 

Patrick sighed impatiently. The fingers were fine, but he needed the fullness of Henry, he needed that dick deep inside him, stretching out his body.   
“Yeah, one second you whore.”

Henry’s fingers pulled out with a slight pop, and then his dick was back at Patrick’s small entrance, and the boy on the floor leaned into it, trying his best to offer his body fully. Pushing forward, the cock met less resistance, passed the tight ring and slid all the way into Patrick. Henry shoved until it all disappeared inside, feeling his hips press against Patrick’s fleshy ass. 

“Ah, hah, could you… fuck could you leave it there for a sec?” Patrick sounded a little in pain, which only sent more blood flowing to Henry’s dick, and it pulsed inside the psycho.   
The reply Henry gave was a low grunt as he pulled out and slammed the dick back into Patrick, who cried out, unable to help himself. It’d been a few months since his last sticky hookup, and he’d forgotten about the initial pain of getting fucked. 

Henry continued with his violence, sliding out of Patrick until only the tip remained inside, and then forcing it all the way back in. A slow, steady, cruel routine, that began to grow on Patrick as the pain lessened, giving way to something deeper, a base pleasure of being filled up, of the pressure all inside him, especially on his prostate, being nailed as Henry thrusted over and over.   
Their slapping flesh sounded through the barn, a wet clapping of thighs on ass, the rhythm easy. Henry retained a firm grip on Patrick’s hips, pushing and pulling boy along with his rocking motion. He watched the white flesh jiggle as his body crashed into Patrick’s, and felt a strong urge come over him. A hand came down hard, slapping Patrick’s left cheek and leaving a shining red mark. 

An “Ooh” floated out of Patrick’s mouth, and urged Henry further. He slapped the ass in front of him again, leaving a mark on the other side. “Fuck” was all Henry managed to say. Nothing had ever felt this good. The tight wetness of Patrick was unbelievable. He started to thrust faster now, feeling the buildup down below. He wasn’t close, not yet, but well on his way to getting there. His dick stayed mostly in Patrick, just the hilt of it sliding out. The pounding became rough and quick, like a rabbit jackhammering.

Patrick loved it. The quickening pace made him quake and buck back against the shorter boy. His dick had been rock hard for some time, flopping aimlessly along to Henry’s rhythm, maybe Patrick would reach one hand down the play with it a little, but he wasn’t worried. As things really got going, he knew that Henry inside him would be all he needed to cum.  
And the cum was coming. Henry’s rapid fucking was pushing Patrick to the edge, his face pressed on the cool barn floor as his body shook with pleasure. Henry’s face bunched up, eye’s squinting, nose wrinkling, mouth open to pull in as much air as he could get. He panted heavily. His ass cheeks clenched behind him as with a final thrust, he emptied his load inside of Patrick.

Feeling the hot liquid flood his insides was exactly what Patrick needed, and he came then too, squirting loosely onto the floor. For a moment, Henry left his cock inside, savoring the tightness of it as his erection lessened. Then he slid his dick out of Patrick, who immediately turned around to face the smaller boy. His face was red and sweaty, but Patrick could see the remnants of pleasure etched into the corners of his small smile. 

“So” Patrick sighed “how’d you like it?” 

Henry frowned. Now that the headrush was gone and he no longer ached for Patrick, he felt even more disgusted with himself. “Wasn’t bad.”

“Ha! Wasn’t bad. From you, I’ll take that.”

“You’ll take whatever I give you,” remarked Henry, still surprised at his willingness to claim Patrick.

“Mmmm yes sir.” 

Henry raised the back of his hand, and was disappointed to find Patrick didn’t even flinch. Oh right, he likes that thought Henry. He dropped the threat, and Patrick relaxed, laying down on the cool floor.  
“Oh Henry Henry Henry. What do we do now?”  
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
After an hour, chores mostly completed, the gang all met up outside the barn. Had they gone inside, they would have noticed that nothing inside the barn had been moved anywhere, something Butch was sure to be angry about later. But Patrick slid the large door closed, hiding their act from the other two. Belch assumed the sweat dripping down Patrick and Henry was the result of hard work, which he admitted was a bit strange, because hard work was something none of the boys were exactly used to. Vic knew better, and he’d fucked around himself with some of the looser girls at school. He could smell the sex, but wouldn’t say anything about it, not now. He had never figured Henry for a fag, and while Patrick was definitely queer in a sense, Vic didn’t think… Well, whatever he thought about Patrick, he could be wrong. The psycho was, well, a fucking psycho. 

“What are we gonna do now?” Belch asked, looking to Henry.

Exhausted from the fuck, Henry let out a small sigh. “Don’t know.” 

Patrick pulled a winkled cigarette from his jeans, flicked on his lighter, and took a drag, the tip glowing red.  
“I’ve got an idea. I was thinking…”

He paused for dramatic effect, and to take another drag. Expelling the smoke from his lungs, he said “It’s been a minute since we gave one of those fucking losers some good trouble.”

Henry asked “Whaddya want to do?”

Patrick smiled. “More like who.”

Vic and Belch exchanged a glance, not sure if they got what he was talking about. To be fair, Henry wasn’t sure exactly what Patrick was planning either. He knew it couldn’t be good.   
“Nah, I’ll explain, but let’s get goin.”

His award-winning smile flashed, and the other members of the gang smiled back. Whatever they were getting into, it was gonna be good. They raced to Belch’s car, ready to cause some mayhem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I'm finding it so much easier to world build and set up story than writing the actual smut, which was the original point of this. Who knew sex was hard to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to make this into a somewhat lengthy series. Stick around, next chapter will be more smutty I promise


End file.
